“If he’s open to it, we can place Jake on the street,” Hudson says, expanding on his question.
“It’s an upscale neighborhood. A man sitting in a car—someone will call in suspicious activity. If we add security, it needs to be on-site.” I picture Jake idling at the curb, a stranger in suburbia—exactly the kind of thing that makes neighbors call 911. I’m right on this one.
“Get Alicia’s take.”
“Will do,” I say. “I’ll touch base in the morning.”
The call ends and I pocket my phone and earbuds. Today ended up being nothing, but it doesn’t feel like it. The weight pressing on Alicia proves that.
“She’s home safe,” I tell her, needing to hear it aloud.
“I know.” The confirmation rings thin. “But that doesn’t make it stop.”
“You did everything right,” I say, even knowing logic rarely gets a foothold in fear.
“I didn’t protect her.”
She’s not looking at me, but I shake my head. “You reacted. Fast. You found her. That’s protection.”
I could remind her that she was at her father’s house, that if anyone’s at fault, it’s him, but today’s event isn’t what has her shaken. It’s what today might have been. It’s where the fault might have fallen. It’s about everything her mind can do with that kind of opening once fear gets inside.
Her gaze stays on the dark street. “You didn’t see Richard’s face. He thinks I’m endangering our daughter.”
His name rubs like grit. I want to tell her Richard’s fear isn’t protective—it’s possessive, controlling, the kind that wears concern as a respectable mask. But she isn’t in a place to hear that. Not tonight.
So I don’t say it.
I’ve spent hours trying to find the thing that will ease this for her, and I’m running out of words. Some things have to burn through on their own.
She finally turns away from the window, her eyes shining but steady. “You ever feel fear in your throat?” she asks, voice rough.“Like it gets stuck there and won’t let you breathe?”
“First time in the field—we lost comms for three hours. Static and silence. Every minute sounded like blood in my ears. I thought we’d lost a man. That kind of helplessness”—I exhale slowly—“it’ll eat you alive.”
“That’s what it feels like,” she whispers. “Helplessness. Like something’s waiting to attack and there’s nothing you can do.”
I reach for her hands and cover them with mine, trying to bring warmth back into her frozen fingers. “You can’t live in that moment forever. You learn from it, and then you move.”
“Is that what you do?”
“Trying.”
For a long moment, we stand there together, reflected dimly in the darkened glass. Two people held in the same uneasy stillness. Outside, the wind kicks up and sends brittle leaves skittering over the sidewalk.
“Get some rest,” I say, knowing she needs to put the scare behind her. “I’ll close everything up.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“You will.”
I brush a strand of hair behind her ear and cup her face. She’s beautiful like this, even wrung out and shaken. Maybe especially like this. All that strength she wears so cleanly through the day is still there, but softer now. More human. More exposed.
“You’re allowed to exhale, Alicia.”
She nods, but her eyes drift back toward the street.
It’d be easier if Stella were here. If Alicia could hear her moving around upstairs, could put eyes on her whenever she wanted, could sit beside her on the couch and watch something mindless until this sharp edge dulled. Something ordinary. Something that would let her body believe what her mind can’t yet accept—that her daughter is safe, that today was only a scare.
The sound cuts through the moment like a crack in glass. I step back and pull it from my pocket. KOAN portal notification.